The Divine Libertines
by LesMisLoony
Summary: Antonio expects the office party at a cheap karaoke bar in midtown to be a miserable event until he befriends the charming bartender.
1. Chapter 1

Antonio had known from the beginning that the night would turn out like this.

He was usually able to make an excuse when Rosenberg in accounting announced an after-hours get-together, but this time it was Joe's birthday, and you can't just refuse an invitation to the CEO's party - even if that party is being held at a seedy karaoke bar in midtown. Not that he hadn't tried: he and Lorenzo, the only other Italian in marketing, had made a pact to sabotage the outing as a last result, but Lorenzo had suddenly bailed when he found out that Stephanie from sales was coming. Of course. The two of them had spent the evening passing one of the microphones back and forth and blushing at each other, which would have been sweet if it had not been so thoroughly repugnant. Antonio had mercifully gotten the spot nearest the door and busied himself busing the drink orders from the bar until their party's time was up in the private karaoke room. While Rosenberg was laboriously calculating how much each person needed to contribute to pay the rental fee, Antonio had found a free table in the corner of the bar and dropped irritably into the chair. They would come get him when they knew how much cash they needed.

Antonio was fiddling with his phone, flipping through the pointless apps that would drain the rest of his battery if he indulged in them, wondering whether or not he should get another drink, when he heard the familiar crash of a server dropping a glass and the inevitable drunken applause that followed. He looked up to throw a dark glare at whoever had cheered the poor server's misfortune. Antonio, like everybody else who had once dreamed of being a musician, had had one failed stint waiting tables, and he remembered how embarrassing it was to be the person who had just broken a dish in front of everyone.

He saw the top of the unhappy server's head behind the bar: a messy knot of yellow hair bobbing up and down as she tried to collect the shards of broken glass. Still the customers crowded along the bar, calling new orders out to her as though their sobriety was the most pressing thing in the noisy room. Antonio grimaced. He had been getting drinks for the office party all night from that little bartender and she barely looked old enough to drink, much less handle a busy night like this on her own. Was she the only employee here?

He glanced over at his coworkers, who were still gathered around Rosenberg with intense looks of concentration on their faces. Stephanie from sales had even pulled up a calculator on her phone!

The door to the kitchen swung open. "Oh, Sophie! Careful, don't cut yourself! I'll grab the broom."

Another server had emerged from the kitchen - the first one's sister, by the look of it. Antonio looked around the little karaoke bar again with a renewed interest. Was it family-run?

The decorations hung haphazardly along the dark walls didn't seem to be able to commit to a theme: here was a rusty "Home Sweet Home" sign, on the back wall was a cheap print of the New York skyline, and, closer to his head, an autographed caricature of Hollywood's favorite new heartbreaker Aloysia. He rolled his eyes. Pop music wasn't usually his thing, but there was no way to escape knowing the entire refrain of "Syncopated Heart". After tonight, the annoyingly catchy song would also come with memories of that soppy look on Lorenzo's face while he and Stephanie from sales tried to harmonize on the chorus.

What had pop sensation Aloysia been doing at a run-down karaoke bar in midtown Manhattan?

"Tony! Have you put in your fourteen dollars yet?"

He groaned, flipping through what little cash he tended to carry in his wallet. So they had finally worked out how to split the tab, and had decided on the most annoying amount possible. Of course they had. Antonio gave up his table and went back to his colleagues, adding a ten and a five to the pile of cash in Rosenberg's hand.

"Fifteen from Tony, so he needs a one. Does anyone have change for a five?"

"Keep it," Antonio instructed. "Put it toward the tip."

"But we already calculated a twenty percent tip," objected Stephanie, pointing to the calculator on her phone.

Antonio just stared at her.

It was Lorenzo who stepped in, the traitor, muttering something about the service not being that great anyway and offering to walk Stephanie to the subway. As the rest of the party began to disband, a particularly-tipsy Joe being bodily supported by Rosenberg, Antonio decided he could do with another drink after all. At that point he would have done anything to avoid sharing a train home with Lorenzo and Stephanie. He slid into an open seat at the bar.

The younger sister who had broken the glass a few moments ago had been sent back to the kitchen (though it was frankly that time of night when no one was ordering food anymore) and the older one had taken her place, taking orders and flashing sweet smiles at the rowdy customers with a professionalism that Antonio kind of envied. He had worked in a cheap steakhouse when he was in school, but even dealing with old couples' soda refills had been too stressful for him. He had never cultivated the ability to bury his indignation and force a smile onto his face: the best he could do was the blank stare he had given Stephanie from sales half an hour ago. He shot a rueful glance at the framed caricature of Aloysia. Maybe if he had been born an extrovert there would be sleazy karaoke bars in Manhattan with his picture on the walls. Would his teenage self have been more appalled at a future where Antonio was a pop sensation in eyeliner and tight pants, or to see him working a nine-to-five marketing job at an advertising firm?

"You gonna order something, or just take up that seat all night?"

Between the intoxicated patrons and the relentless karaoke machine on the far wall, Antonio almost didn't realize that the bartender was speaking to him. It wasn't until she laughed that he noticed that she was staring at him.

"What?"

The bartender just grinned shook her head, mixing some godawful-looking cocktail for a woman who was making a valiant effort to perform a Divine Libertines song while the other patrons cheered. Antonio belatedly realized that the bartender had been trying to take his order, and squinted up at the drink menu on the back wall.

What on earth was a "Bend Over Shirley"?

His thoughts must have been written in his expression, for after a moment the bartender slid a wine menu under his hand with another of her bright smiles.

Antonio tugged at his tie, suddenly warm - and then he realized he was blushing. "Thank you," he muttered, though the bartender certainly didn't hear him over all the noise.

"Not much of a drinker, are you?" she teased. "Were you with that office party in the back room?"

"How can you tell?"

The bartender pointed to her own bare neck. "There's no dress code here, you know."

Self-conscious, Antonio loosened his tie even further.

"Syncopated Heart" started up on the karaoke machine for the third time that night; Antonio's groan was buried beneath the drunken cheers of the other patrons. The bartender caught his expression out of the corner of her eye and shot him her infectious smile. "You don't like Aloysia?" she asked.

Antonio shrugged, thinking of the autographed caricature on the wall. "I don't think I'm the right demographic."

The bartender laughed out loud at this, and Antonio felt the corners of his mouth twitch at the sound of it. He trained his attention back on the wine list with renewed determination.

To his surprise, the bartender placed a shot glass in front of him. "To help you get through the first refrain," she said, offering him a slice of lime on a plate.

Antonio stared at the drink she had left behind. Would it be more embarrassing to admit to the charming bartender that he'd never done a shot before, or to use his phone to look up why she had given him a piece of lime? He regretfully laid down the wine menu and ran a finger along the rim of the shot glass.

Though he had managed to develop a love of wine, Antonio was not the sort of person to loiter in bars in the evenings. When he wasn't at work, he tended to be at home in his crappy Jersey loft, his guitar on his lap and some awful reality show droning on the television to keep him company while he attempted to compose. Until Rosenberg was hired and started planning these ridiculous company outings, Antonio had never even been inside a bar. The only thing he hated more than a room full of strangers was a dark, noisy room full of strangers.

He was starting to wish he had left when everybody else had.

No one else in the bar had a shot of - which had she said it was? Tequila? - and a random slice of fruit in front of them. Desperation rising, he finally took out his phone and pulled up the browser, drumming his fingers nervously on the table while the search page loaded. It was times like these that Antonio cursed his straight-laced youth. Everyone handled foster care differently; for Antonio, he had enjoyed being the good boy that the adults trusted to finish all his homework and rat out the other kids for breaking the rules. While the other people his age were out learning what a slice of lime had to do with a shot of alcohol, Antonio had been home reading dusty old books.

The instructions on yahoo answers seemed ridiculous. Antonio read them twice, hoping that he didn't look as incredulous as he felt. He had to lick his hand? In public?

While the bartender wasn't looking, Antonio took a deep breath and swallowed the shot of tequila as though he was drinking medicine.

God, it was awful! It burned a path through his lungs like some unholy combination of acid and poison. Antonio bit off a chunk of the slice of lime, but it didn't help as much as the kids on Yahoo Answers seemed to think it would. To his chagrin, the bartender caught his eye before he had figured out how to work the sour expression off his face. She laughed. "Tequila isn't your drink, huh?"

Unsure how to answer, Antonio cleared his throat. "How much do I owe?"

"That was on the house," she said.

"No, surely I can offer-"

"On the house! We don't get that many Wall Street types in here."

"In that case, I'll have another drink." Antonio squinted up at the menu on the back wall, scanning the prices until he found one that seemed absurdly high. "French Connection, please."

He saw the bartender's brows lift, but she simply said, "Coming up!" and cleared away his lime rind and empty shot glass.

The second drink seemed even more toxic than the first, compounded by the fact that it came in a full-sized glass tumbler rather than a tiny shot. He nursed the drink for a while, concentrating on keeping the cringe off his face with each sip - and whenever a new song started up on the machine and the other patrons scrambled for a microphone. He felt the bartender's presence in the room like an anchor; it seemed like he had a fix on her no matter where she went or who she was talking to. She kept catching his eye and grinning, or, as the night wore on, winking. It was starting to get embarrassing.

By the time his glass was finally empty, he noticed he was gripping the edge of the bar to stay upright. It was much easier to slump against the wall at his side, watching the patrons who hadn't left yet sing through lowering lids.

"You finished with this?"

Antonio peered at the bartender through the murky room. She looked more like a golden haze than a person as she took the empty glass away.

The karaoke machine was just an incomprehensible roar at that point. Antonio mussed a hand through his hair and rubbed at his eyes. How much longer until he could go to bed?

Then he sat up so quickly he almost toppled off the barstool. He was still in midtown! He still needed to get all the way back to his loft in Jersey before he could sleep!

What time was it? Had he missed the last PATH train? Antonio fumbled with his phone, but every time he tried to enter the unlock code the stupid thing gave him an error message. After several tries, he finally flagged down the bartender and passed it to her, trying his best to explain his situation. She laughed and said something back, but her voice was like an indiscernible song. Antonio leaned forward, trying to make out the words she was saying, but the bar beneath his hands lurched and he almost lost his balance.

Everything was getting dimmer, drowned out by Antonio's thoughts. Or, not thoughts exactly: his feelings, his- the essence of his thoughts were like static, filling up his head. He was so angry at Lorenzo for ditching him, at Stephanie for catching Lorenzo's eye when she transitioned, at fucking Rosenberg in accounting for planning a party at a karaoke bar and forcing him to come along. He leaned his head against the wall, too sluggish to scowl anymore. Did he have enough cash for another drink? He tried to check, but he couldn't figure out how to get his hand into his pocket. Antonio sighed, flopping forward onto the bar and dropping his head into his arms.

As Antonio regained consciousness, he slowly became aware that he was lying on his back. His throat was dry and he felt like his skull was being squeezed. So he had managed to catch the last PATH train to Jersey after all!

Antonio started to sit up, but he heard a footstep and a whispering voice. A woman's voice. Antonio froze, even holding his breath, but he couldn't focus on the stranger's words. His throbbing pulse was too loud, and now he could feel the room tilting back and forth.

A second voice spoke, slightly louder than the first, but all he heard was the phrase "some drunk she brought home" before he lost consciousness again.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time Antonio awoke, he still had no idea where he was. Without opening his eyes he could see the red glow from a sunny window, and could feel that whatever he was lying on was much softer than the air mattress in his loft back home. He wiggled his toes, confirming that his shoes were missing. What on earth had happened after he finished that drink?

Just as Antonio was working up the nerve to peer out into the room through his lashes, he heard a door open and a set of footsteps creep into the room. He clamped his eyes shut again, holding his breath.

"Well?" a woman hissed, "Who is he?"

"A customer," said a second voice - this one Antonio thought he recognized.

"And you brought him upstairs?"

"Listen, he was obviously uncomfortable last night so I gave him a shot of tequila on the house. Next thing I know it's closing time and he's staggering around asking everyone if he missed the last PATH train. There was no way he was going to make it back to New Jersey in a state like that!"

Antonio fought the impulse to cringe. So he had embarrassed himself the night before in front of that sweet bartender, and she had felt so sorry for him that he had somehow ended up passed out on her couch. Incredible.

He was never going to drink anything but wine again.

"Well, you better get him out of here or you know what'll happen. You're supposed to be the good one in the family!"

"I know! I'm working on it!"

Footsteps again, and the closing of the door.

Antonio exhaled at last, covering his face with his hands. What if he just sneaked out now without encountering anyone? He would certainly never go to that particular bar again, so it's not like he would ever have to explain himself. Maybe he would avoid midtown altogether! That would be the end of it.

"Good morning, Wall Street."

Antonio froze again, but it was too late: only one of the women had left the room a moment ago.

He peered out through a crack between two fingers. There she was. The bartender from last night was leaning against a wall, her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face. He golden hair was still disheveled from sleep and secured in a messy knot. He dragged his hands down the length of his face and groaned.

"Don't sit up too fast," she warned, but Antonio was not smart enough to listen. That throbbing headache came surging back the minute he was upright.

He had been stretched across a faded old couch in what must have been a living room, though it was an uncomfortably narrow space. Besides the couch, the only furniture in the room was an ancient-looking television was perched on top of a dresser that was missing one drawer. A wrinkled Aloysia poster was stuck to one wall with painter's tape.

"Did I get you in trouble?" Antonio rasped. He tried to clear his throat, but the noise threatened to break open his skull.

The bartender laughed, dropping into the seat beside him and patting his knee. "That right there is the bathroom," she said, pointing to a door. "There's aspirin in the cabinet mirror. Take two, or four if you're desperate. I'll have a glass of water ready when you're done, but then I'm afraid you're going to have to hit the road."

"Thank you," said Antonio meekly. He forced himself to stand and use the door she had indicated.

The bathroom was even more cramped than the living room, and was set up in such a way that you would practically have to climb over the toilet in order to use the shower. Antonio rolled his eyes at his gaunt reflection in the mirror. Not only were his shoes missing, but his tie and belt had been removed too, and his shirt was hopelessly wrinkled. His trip back to Jersey was going to look like a walk of shame. Antonio had never had to take a walk of shame before.

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers. The shirt was beyond hope of straightening, but at least he looked somewhat presentable from the neck up. He found the aspirin and went ahead and took four, swallowing them dry, then faced his reflection again.

He looked only slightly less terrible than he felt. It occurred to him that this would be quite a story to tell Lorenzo on Monday at work - that is, if Lorenzo was still speaking to him after last night. He hadn't been that terrible to Stephanie, had he? She had probably been too busy making eyes at Lorenzo to notice Antonio's mood, anyway. And it wasn't like they had ever actually been friends before. Lorenzo was the only person at the office that Antonio could tolerate for more than a few minutes of conversation, but things had been tense between them ever the incident at the food cart a month ago. The whole Stephanie thing wasn't helping either.

Without warning, the door to the bathroom opened. Antonio spun around, clutched the sink with one hand for balance, and found himself facing a middle-aged woman with a look of horror etched into her face. "Who the hell are you?"

"I- I'm sorry-"

But then the woman lunged at him, seizing his ear and dragging him out of the bathroom. "Girls!" she bellowed.

The living room door opened, and in filed the young blonde who had broken a glass the night before, a tall brunette, and the bartender who had been kind to him. She had a glass of water clutched in one hand and a look of chagrin on her face.

"Who-?" asked the woman who had him by the ear. She was too apoplectic to even put her question to words. "Josie?"

The brunette huffed. "Wasn't me, mom. Not this time."

"Sophie, surely you didn't-"

The tiny blonde shook her head mutely.

The mother's grip on Antonio's ear tightened, and he had to swallow back a yelp. "Constance?"

"I'm sorry, mom!"

"Ma'am, if you could just-"

"I have one rule, Constance! One rule!"

"It's not like that! I don't even know his name!"

If the strength of her grip on Antonio's ear was an indicator of the mother's mood, it was safe to say that that was not what she wanted to hear.

"Ma'am, I promise I was on my way out. If you'd release me-"

She finally did, but not before giving that poor ear a final twist. "Get him out!" the mother snapped. "Josie, you work the bar for the rest of the month. You and Sophie will split the tips. Constance will stay home."

"Sweet," the tall sister said, winking at the tiny blonde. "Thanks, Constance."

"Oh, shut up," said the bartender.

The mother leveled a finger at her. "You have three minutes. Get. Him. Out."

And with that, she ushered the other two sisters out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The bartender - Constance - set the glass of water down on top of the television and pointed to a bundle in the corner. "That's your stuff," she muttered.

Antonio sifted through the little pile, putting his shoes, belt, and tie back on as quickly as he could with a relentless headache and a sulking woman in the corner. When he was ready, she grabbed him by one hand and dragged him out of the apartment and into a narrow staircase that smelled overwhelmingly like cigarettes.

As soon as the door was closed, to his surprise, Constance burst into a fit of giggles. "Your ear!"

Relieved, Antonio bit back a smile. Thank goodness she wasn't as embarrassed as he was. "So, your mom seems nice," he said, and that got her laughing even harder. She had an infectious laugh.

"Are you okay?" she asked at length, taking long, slow breaths to keep herself breaking into hysterics again.

"I guess. It was a strange way to start the weekend. I didn't, um, undress in front of you, did I?" he ventured. "Last night?"

"You were barely conscious by the time I got you up the stairs," said Constance. "As soon as I got you onto the couch you were passed out."

A mortifying image of the lovely bartender removing his belt while he snored drunkenly formed in Antonio's mind. "Oh, God."

Constance swatted at his arm. "Come on, before my mom comes out here to check on me. How's your head?"

"You mean the pain from all the alcohol I consumed last night, or the pain from your mother's Mike Tyson death grip?" Antonio asked, smiling to himself when he got her to laugh again.

"Listen, there's a Starbucks on the corner," she said, motioning toward the stairs. "I'll come too. You'll have to buy your own coffee, though, Wall Street."

"Let me pay for yours as well. For your kindness."

"Sounds good to me," Constance said, leading him down the dirty staircase.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Monday morning when Antonio smacked his briefcase against the sensor next to the door and the light didn't change color that he realized that his keycard had gone missing at some point during the weekend. He had to use the external phone to dial Lorenzo's desk, the only extension he knew off the top of his head besides his own, and wait by the elevators until his colleague came to open the door for him.<p>

Thankfully Lorenzo no longer looked like a lovesick teenager when he came to the door. He was staring at Antonio with a quizzical concentration that was surprisingly off-putting.

"Thanks," Antonio said, brushing past him. "I must have lost my keycard at that karaoke bar."

Lorenzo didn't say anything, but trailed behind him as Antonio went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed, staring.

"Okay, what is it?" Antonio demanded.

"There was someone in your office," said Lorenzo. "A woman."

"In my office? When?"

"This morning."

Antonio grabbed his coffee and hurried around the corner to see for himself.

He had been with the agency for about a year and a half now, yet his office still looked almost exactly the way it had when he had first been hired. His name was misspelled on door, "Saller" instead of "Salieri" for some awful reason, and the only decoration was one of those plastic daisies that waves its leaves up and down in direct sunlight. Joe had gotten them for all his employees on National Boss's Day last year. Antonio had drawn a frown onto his and placed it right at the edge of his desk where it could glower motionlessly at anyone walking by on their way to the water cooler. No one ever noticed, but it amused him anyway.

There were a few new files and unopened envelopes dropped into his inbox, but other than that Antonio's office looked just like he had left it on Friday afternoon. It wasn't until he pulled his chair away from his desk that he found his keycard resting conspicuously in the seat. How could he have left it here without realizing? Antonio picked it up and was about to put it back into his wallet when he saw one of his post-it notes stuck to the back.

iFound this between the couch cushions,/i the note said, and beneath that was a phone number with a New York area code.

"Who was she?"

Antonio started: he hadn't heard Lorenzo approach. "Who?"

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. "The woman. Who is she? How did she get in?"

"How was your weekend?" Antonio asked, sticking the post-it to the back of his cell phone and dropping it into his briefcase. "Did you and John get home okay?"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Lorenzo snapped.

"I have work to do," said Antonio, rolling his chair up to his desk.

Lorenzo spun on his heel and stormed away.

About a half an hour later, Antonio's desk phone rang. "Marketing," he said blandly as he answered, "Antonio Salieri speaking." If customer service had sent him another telemarketer he was going to march right down there himself and chuck his desk phone at someone's head.

"So that really is your name," said a familiar voice. "I thought you had made something up to throw me off your scent."

A grin spread across his face. Constance. "And who is this, please?"

"The president of Italy," she said. "Your country needs you."

"I'm afraid I have a very important job on Wall Street to deal with."

"You don't even work on Wall Street and you know it! You're on Varick! I've never been so disillusioned in my life! What will my mother say when I tell her?"

"Probably 'get him out'," said Antonio. "Make sure you're not without pinching distance when you tell her."

"Hey, I gave you my number so you would call it," Constance said.

"Well I didn't give you my number at all!"

"I know. I took one of your business cards off your desk."

Antonio leaned back in his chair. "You're stalking me," he teased.

"Yep. Want to meet for lunch?"

"Sure."

"Your treat," she said. "You still owe me a night's worth of couch rent and two weeks' worth of tips from the bar."

"I'll make it up to you," Antonio promised.

"You might have to buy me lunch every day this week."

"If that's what it takes."

"It's a start. See you at noon."

Antonio returned the phone to its cradle, unable to force the smile off his face. For once, he wasn't even sure he wanted to.


	3. Chapter 3

"We got you a card," Lorenzo said, lurking just in front of the door to Antonio's office. It was the first time he had spoken to him in months.

Without getting up from his desk, Antonio put out a hand. "We?"

"Stephanie bought it." There was acid in his voice.

"Look," said Antonio, "I said I was sorry about the 'John' thing. It isn't her fault I was in a bad mood that morning. I was wrong." He wiggled his fingers. "Give me the stupid card."

"Don't misgender her again."

"I told you I won't," he insisted, "give me the card!"

Lorenzo finally entered the office, thrusting the neon envelope into Antonio's hand. He continued to hover while Antonio peeled it open and scanned over the courteous birthday messages from colleagues with whom he had barely ever spoken.

"I really am sorry," Antonio said again, looking up from the card. "I was being a dick. I should have been glad you were happy."

"I was happy," muttered Lorenzo, tapping one of the plastic daisy's petals and watching it wobble back and forth.

"You aren't now?"

Lorenzo tapped the daisy again. "She's getting transferred to Philly."

"Permanently?"

"It's a promotion. Head of Sales in the Eastern Corridor. They're giving her a corner office."

Antonio lowered his eyes to his card until he found Stephanie's curly penmanship. "I'm sorry, Lorenzo."

"Yeah," he said, but he swept out of the office without looking back.

When he was alone again, Antonio read over the messages on the card (none of them were particularly original) and set it up on his desk next to the scowling daisy. If Stephanie or anyone who had signed it walked by, he knew they would want to think he was grateful for the effort. Antonio checked his work email - nothing new - and then pulled up his browser.

He still felt like a sellout whenever he logged into facebook, but Constance had insisted he get one until he ran out of reasons not to. Privacy? Anonymity? None of that meant anything to Constance, who had even gone so far as to say that she didn't think of someone as a friend until she could send them a friend request. He had given in and started the page a month ago, and had only managed to accumulate about twelve friends including Constance: he had also been discovered by a few old classmates, two foster siblings, and a handful of people in the office, among which was Rosenberg in accounting.

The annoying red flag in the corner told him that a good number of those people had written on his wall with birthday wishes, and that Constance had tagged him in yet another selfie. He went to her Mobile Uploads album, which was mainly photos of her making silly faces with her sisters (and, more recently, next to him). The new picture had been taken half an hour ago during lunch after she had kissed him on the cheek and insisted on snapping a picture with the lipstick mark. The Antonio in the picture was making a concentrated effort to glower, and the Constance was pretending to look scandalized by the pink smudge just next to his beard. He saved it to the Constance folder on his desktop and untagged himself, like he always did.

Lunch with Constance had started out as a way to atone for getting her in trouble with her mother the day they met, but after a few weeks it seemed so natural that Antonio couldn't imagine his routine without it. He hadn't bothered to make that many friends when he moved to New York: after being shuffled around through the foster system as a kid, forming connections with people with whom he might one day lose contact had become unappealing. He had moved to the city with no expectation of making it in the music business, yet he was not sure how long he wanted to stick around now that he was marketing adviser. It had just seemed easiest to keep to himself and wait until he was in a more permanent situation before he started trying to make social connections.

But Constance was different. She was sunny and persistent, with a wicked sense of humor. Antonio had honestly expected her to be fed up with him after the first week, but she was always waiting on the corner when he stepped out for lunch. She was optimistic without being annoyingly so, and cheerful in a way that made Antonio want to smile along with her. She teased him relentlessly, but never in a way that made him feel bullied. She was unlike anyone he had ever kept company with before. He felt like the nerd in an after-school special who couldn't believe that the prom queen wanted to be his friend.

He unlocked his phone and pulled her name from his recent contacts, pretending not to notice that it was the only name on the list. "You get home okay?" he typed.

Her reply came almost instantly: a picture of Constance sitting on the subway, her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. He loved it when she answered his questions with facial expressions.

"See you tomorrow," he texted back. "Tell your mom I said hi."

That would make her laugh. Constance's mother didn't know who it was her daughter met for lunch every day, and since she didn't have a facebook she was the only member of the family who never saw the contents of the Mobile Uploads album. It was strange to imagine that someone as warm and friendly as Constance could have come from such an over-protective environment. Still, he knew that her father had died suddenly a few years ago, and that her mother had changed since then. She was probably just trying to protect what family she had left. In truth, their relationship made Antonio a little jealous. No one had ever been there to scold him for coming in late, or to threaten the people he had dated.

"Antonio!"

He looked up and blanched: the CEO was standing in the door of his office. He minimized facebook on his computer and dropped his phone into his lap. "Joe!"

"I hear it's your birthday!"

"Yes sir."

"Happy birthday!"

Antonio nodded. "Thanks." Joe was a pretty eccentric guy, but had he really just come all the way down to Antonio's office just to wish him a happy birthday? How had he even known? "Sir?"

"Oh, right! Yes, so I wanted to talk to you about the new deal Stephanie just brought in. Huge company, big account, and they need an expert touch, if you know what I mean. I know you don't work in sales, but Stephanie is moving over to the Philadelphia office next week, and we really need to keep this account no matter what it takes. They want a commercial from us! Something young people would like, something edgy. Now, our Stephanie has called in the lead singer of some rock band that a lot of kids are supposed be talking about. She has Lorenzo taking over the account until we assign it to someone else. Would you mind keeping an eye on him? I just don't want to throw too much at him at once."

"Sure, Joe. I can handle it." As if he could turn down a favor for the CEO of the company.

"Wonderful! I knew you would! Since you're being such a team player, I've got news I can share: our Rosenberg is planning a birthday party for you down at that same karaoke bar. Do you want me to tell him to call it off? Lorenzo mentioned that you're not really into bars and partying."

Antonio had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "Nah, I'll go. When's the reservation?"

"Friday! I know it's not your exact birthday, but it makes more sense for our schedules. Plus we can combine it with a going-away party for Stephanie."

"Friday is great," Antonio said. "I'll be there."

* * *

><p>It was hard not to tell Constance that he would be in her bar again, but Antonio managed to keep the secret for the rest of the week. She was fortunately distracted: in preparation for a long trip, her mother had been turning the apartment upside-down packing her bags, and Constance was so busy complaining about the mess over their next few lunches that she didn't notice Antonio's smugness. For someone who didn't talk that much, he had always been surprisingly bad at keeping secrets.<p>

By the time he clocked out on Friday afternoon, he had thought through how the night would go a thousand times. In his favorite scenario, Constance spotted him from behind the bar and broke out into that contagious smile, which made the patrons all turn around to see who she could possibly be so interested in. He liked to imagine that the patrons would be attracted to her, and that upon seeing her attention on Antonio they would mutter jealously to each other. Constance would say something witty, Antonio would come up with a flippant response on the spot, and he would spend the rest of the night slipping her generous tips and exchanging private smiles as he brought orders back and forth from the private room.

He was strangely nervous as they approached the bar that night. He tried to remind himself that Constance was obviously going to acknowledge him, and the sudden dread he was feeling was completely baseless. It wasn't as though she was going to pretend she had no idea who he was just because she was at work. She had been giving him special attention since the day they met. They had had had lunch together at the pizza place on the corner only a few hours ago. They texted back and forth several times a day, and she was constantly kicking his ass at Words with Friends. She was going to be pleased to see him. It was going to make her smile. At least, he hoped it would.

His stomach was actually churning by the time Rosenberg pulled the door open. He filed into the restaurant behind Lorenzo, and his eyes immediately went to the bar. It was still early, so there were only a couple of people seated on the stools.

Antonio's heart dropped: the tall brunette sister, Josie, was taking drink orders. Constance was either in the kitchen or upstairs in the room she and Sophie shared.

The walk to the back room was longer than he remembered, and the noise of the karaoke bar seemed like a roar. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He stood mutely by the door while his colleagues arranged themselves on the long couch, fussing over the microphones and setting up a playlist on the machine. No one was even glancing up at him: the group seemed a lot more interested in bidding farewell to Stephanie than celebrating Antonio's birthday.

"Who wants a drink?" Antonio blurted.

Rosenberg tried to protest with "We just got here", but fortunately Joe overrode him with a bawdy cry of "First round's on me!" Suddenly everyone was clamoring to give their order to Antonio; he almost didn't remember them all.

When he approached the bar with his order, he thought he saw Josie squint a little, as though she was trying to place him. Would she be more likely to recognize him as the man her mother had dragged out of their bathroom by the ear three months ago, or the guy Constance kept posing with in her facebook pictures? He recited the list of drink orders and was met with a casual, "You in the back room?" Nothing else. If she had identified him as a friend of Constance's, she wasn't going to say anything about it. Antonio huffed. Had he gotten himself stuck at another insufferable office party for nothing? He swallowed a groan, remembering how miserable he had been last time before Constance had taken Sophie's place a the bar. He really hadn't thought this whole plan through.

Antonio resigned himself to hovering by the door of the private room just as he had done the last time, nursing the glass of wine Joe had paid for. The evening was just as annoying as it had been three months ago: maybe worse, for Lorenzo and Stephanie had actually started dating since then, and were struggling with how much affection they were allowed to display in front of their colleagues. The more they drank, the weaker their restraint was. Antonio excused himself to the bathroom just to spare himself the sight of the two of them singing an 80s love ballad into the same microphone.

He leaned against the bathroom door, grateful to be separated from the relentless hubbub of the karaoke machines. The bathroom was dim and cramped, but at least it was clean. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and felt a weird jolt in his stomach when he noticed a new text from Constance.

"Having a good night?"

Antonio started to answer, but then he had an idea. He went back into the private room and, while the songs on the playlist were changing, grabbed one of the microphones. He held it up by his face and snapped a picture of himself with his phone, making sure that the background was recognizable enough before he sent the image as a response.

As he was putting his phone away he noticed Lorenzo peering at him curiously. Antonio rolled his eyes and dropped to a seat at the edge of the long couch, passing the microphone off to the person next to him lest he be forced to sing with the next song that came up on the screen. What would Constance think of him being at her bar again? Would she come down? He hoped she wasn't stuck in the kitchen for the rest of the night. Maybe he could hang around after the party disbanded and talk to her. Maybe she would get Josie to switch with her so they could chat across the bar.

Antonio pretended to study a drinks menu while the Joe monopolized the microphone for a repetitive 90s boyband song he had selected. The others were cheering and taking video with their phones, and he was thriving on the attention. Antonio had to admit that it was a pretty funny sight: Joe was the CEO of their entire company, and he knew every word to this trashy pop song without even glancing at the screen. He was even doing a few awkward dance moves! By the time the song had ended, there was a thin film of sweat on Joe's brow and the rest of the group was in hysterics.

"Next round is on me, too!" Joe proclaimed. This was met with a roar from the party.

The cheers grew even louder when the next song started up on the machine: it was Syncopated Heart, that Aloysia song that was always on the radio. Antonio groaned and threw himself back onto the couch while the others scrambled for the microphones.

"What, you're not going to sing with me?" asked a familiar voice.

Antonio sat up so quickly that his forehead almost collided with hers. "Constance!"

She was leaning over him, one of the microphones in hand. Her long hair and gold dress made it seem like she was glowing in the dim room. "I know you know all the words," she teased, waving the microphone at him.

"I'd need to be a lot drunker. Too drunk to get home safely."

"Fine," said Constance, and to his surprise, she dropped to a seat in his lap. "But I'm going to sing," she said, draping an arm around his neck. "And you're going to stop pouting."

"I'm not pouting," Antonio huffed, but the song had already begun. He glanced over Constance's shoulder at his colleagues and caught Lorenzo's wide-eyed stare.

It wasn't the jealous glares of a half-dozen bar patrons, but it was still pretty satisfying. And having Constance in his lap was much better than having her on the other side of the bar.

"Am I crushing your legs? Do you want me to scoot?"

Antonio shook his head. "This is perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

"What's up with the lanky dude who won't stop staring at you?" Constance asked, her lips almost touching his ear. "Is he in love with you or what?"

"That's Lorenzo."

"_The_ Lorenzo? Food cart Lorenzo?" Constance twisted around to get a better look.

"Well don't stare back!"

"I'm not."

"If he's staring, and then you turn around and look at him, you're staring back!"

"Fine," she ceded, facing the screen again, but that wicked look was dancing in her eyes. "How come you never said he was cute?"

"I thought that was implied."

"Geez, okay, Antonioni Rigatoni only kisses conventionally cute people. Noted."

"Don't make me dump you on the floor."

"Try it," she said. "I'll take you down with me and give Food Cart Lorenzo something to stare at."

Antonio wiggled one knee, causing Constance to lurch on his lap. She gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders.

"You jerk!" she laughed. "Hey, sit tight, I'm gonna make your coworkers love me."

"How?" Antonio asked, but she was already on her feet and out of the room.

Without Constance blocking his view, Antonio suddenly realized just how many people besides Lorenzo were shooting inquisitive glances in his direction. He couldn't really blame them. Antonio tended to picture himself as the office loner: in fact, he had apparently developed enough of a reputation as someone who hated socialization that the CEO had offered to cancel his birthday party. He probably hadn't struck any of them as the kind of person who would know someone like Constance, much less know her well enough for her to want to use him as a chair.

If Antonio was the office loner, Rosenberg was the office busybody. The minute Constance was gone, he tried to start a conversation by thrusting a microphone into Antonio's face. "Do you want to sing the next one, Tony?" he asked, as if it was somewhere within the realm of possibility that Antonio might say yes.

"No thanks."

"What about your- uh- your friend?"

"Ask her when she gets back," Antonio said.

"Hey," Rosenberg said, scooting closer, "did you hear Lorenzo is taking over one of Stephanie's accounts? He's not even in sales!"

"I heard."

"A rock band, can you imagine? What's the company coming to?"

"If it's what the customer wants," said Antonio vaguely.

"Listen-" Rosenberg began, but he was mercifully cut off when Constance returned with a huge tray of various kinds of alcohol.

"On the house!" she announced, setting the tray down on the low table, "for Antonio's birthday!"

His coworkers' cheers were so loud that Antonio almost expected the patrons out at the bar to come scold them. Constance slipped out of the stampede and returned to Antonio's side, mussing his hair with one hand. "Want some wine, birthday boy?"

"I've got to make it to the train this time."

"Well, just in case you miss it again, Mom's out of town for the week, remember? She's visiting Allie in Los Angeles. So if you have to crash on the couch, no one will try to rip off your ear in the morning. The Weber house is available for a slumber party."

"Sure, your sisters and I will paint each others' toenails and watch Lifetime all night."

"Cool! You'll have to be the one who pays for all the Chinese takeout, though. And the male strippers." Constance withdrew her hand from his hair and wrinkled her nose. "How much gel do you think you need, anyway?"

"Just enough to be an Italian stereotype," said Antonio.

"In that case, consider today a job well done." She stepped back and studied him for a moment, her head tilted to one side as she considered something.

"What is it?" Antonio asked, smoothing his hair self-consciously.

"Josie said I should give you a birthday present upstairs. Kind of a big one."

Antonio was suddenly even more aware of Rosenberg's eyes on him - and, from across the room, Lorenzo's. The music was loud and a few other people from sales were singing a melodramatic showtune to Stephanie to bid her farewell. Had Rosenberg heard what Constance had just said? What if he had misinterpreted it? Had Antonio misinterpreted it?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you have any allergies?"

He shook his head, though he had only half-heard the question.

"Okay, come on. Just tell me if it's not what you want, okay?" Constance grabbed one of his hands and pulled him to his feet. Antonio bit back a smile; her palm actually was sticky from his hair gel.

The bar outside was pretty crowded, but Constance wove expertly through the raucous patrons without releasing Antonio. From across the room, Josie shouted, "About time!" and her sister replied by sticking out her tongue.

Antonio felt his ears getting hot. When they stopped out front of the bar and Constance dropped his hand, he cleared his throat. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Upstairs," she answered vaguely, unlocking the door to the stairwell.

"Why?"

"You'll see."

The stairwell was just as small and smelly as it had been the day they met - or, rather, the day after they met, for Antonio had no memory of the first time he climbed these stairs. He followed Constance, heartbeat loud in his ears, trying not to let his imagination race more than a few seconds into the future. 'Josie said I should give you a birthday present upstairs,' she had said. 'Kind of a big one.' And now she was taking him up to an empty apartment.

How big was 'kind of' big?

No, he was being ridiculous. Antonio studied Constance as she climbed the steps ahead of him, her fingertips brushing along the greasy handrail. Even from this awkward angle, she looked more like a decoration for the top of a Christmas tree than a real person. The dim light in the stairwell kept catching her short, full skirt as she moved, sending little flecks of golden light dancing across the walls. The upper half of the dress was made to look like a black corset, and her bare shoulders were completely hidden by her long, thick hair. She was always wearing cute little dresses when he saw her for lunch, too. How could someone as bright as Constance stand to spend time with Antonio and his dark, dull suits?

And how could she climb these stairs so quickly in those pumps?

Antonio felt a little dizzy by the time Constance stopped to unlock the apartment door, but he wasn't sure whether he should attribute it to the stairs or the wine he had had earlier that evening. Maybe the wild scenarios about what would happen on the other side of that door that refused to leave his head were to blame.

"Are you ready?" she asked, opening the door, and Antonio nodded. Did you have to say something out loud for it to be an actual lie, or did a gesture count?

The living room was just as he remembered it: cramped and strangely-decorated with signed Aloysia posters. He had never remembered to ask Constance why her mom was so into campy pop music. Now didn't really seem like the time.

Constance disappeared into a back room, calling over her shoulder for him to stay where he was while she got his present ready. Antonio set his briefcase down against the wall and obeyed, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket, then at his tie. He heard Constance muttering to herself from the next room. What did she think was going to happen? He pulled his tie looser and undid a shirt button, then buttoned it up again.

He had been seeing Constance almost every day for the past three months now, and some time ago he had finally admitted to himself that she was becoming something of an obsession. He had tried to resist, to think of her as just a normal friend, but Antonio had never had many friends, and none of them had ever filled his thoughts the way Constance did. No one had ever filled his thoughts the way Constance did, in fact, barring a few celebrity crushes when he was younger. But what they had right now was perfect. The lunch dates, her carefree laughter and the way she never hesitated to link her arm through his - this was the most rewarding friendship of Antonio's life. The inappropriate thoughts that came to him late at night had no place in the real world. Antonio was not going to scare Constance away. After all, he had already ruined his friendship with Lorenzo by reading too much into it.

"Close your eyes!" The sound of her voice snapped him back into the present.

"What? Why?"

"Close them!" she called again. "And put your hands out in front of you."

"Why?" Antonio repeated, but he did as he was told. His heartbeat was so loud he was getting a headache.

"Are they closed?"

"Yes!"

"Hands out?"

"Constance, come on."

He heard her footsteps as she came out of the back room, and the shallow sound of her breathing. When she was standing just before him she paused, and then something warm and hairy dropped into his hands.

Antonio yelped and jerked backward, opening his eyes to see a yellow ball of fluff sitting on his upturned palms. Two round blue eyes blinked up at him. "What-"

"Do you want her? Please take her!"

"What-?"

"We've got to get her out of here before Mom comes home. She'd freak."

"You're giving me a cat?"

"Sure! Why not? I mean, if you have a little kitty to take care of, I won't have to worry about you moping around your apartment alone every night. So, happy birthday!"

Antonio stared at the tiny creature in his hands. It was peering down at the floor as though it might try to make a run for it. "You can't just give me a cat, Constance. I've never had a pet."

"Cats are the easiest kind! And we've got a bunch of supplies for her. You can have them."

"Can you even take cats on the PATH train?"

Constance went back into the bedroom, leaving him alone with the ball of fur. The kitten extended a tentative paw as though it was considering walking down the length of Antonio's arm, then withdrew it and returned to looking down at the distant floor.

"Constance? Come back before it jumps!"

"Pet her!" Constance replied. She came back with several plastic PetSmart bags hanging from her arms. "Here: we've got litter, food, and some toys that were on clearance. That'll take care of the first couple of weeks for you."

"I can't- Constance, I can't carry all this and the cat."

"I'll come with you," she said. "Do you want to take the bags and I'll take the kitty?"

Antonio let her scoop the little creature up, cradling it in her arms like a baby. "But can you take a cat in the subway? You can't, can you? You need a carrier."

"I'm carrying the cat, so I'm the carrier. If anyone tries to tell us off, you can beat them up for me."

"Happy birthday to me," Antonio muttered, collecting the PetSmart bags and his briefcase. This was certainly not the present he had been expecting.

He hadn't realized just how late it was until they had to run for the last PATH train of the night, Constance clutching the kitten to her chest and diving through the doors behind him just before they closed. There were only a few other people on the train, the nearest of whom shot the pair dark glares and returned to staring blankly at the floor without even noticing the uncaged animal in Constance's arms. The cat took the whole affair in stride, huddling against Constance and staring nervously at its noisy surroundings.

As for Constance, she was so busy cooing over the cat that she hardly even looked at Antonio throughout the entire ride. He had to physically tap her on the arm to get her attention when it was time to get off.

It wasn't until they were in his building and Antonio was pulling open the doors to the freight elevator that Constance seemed to notice where they were. She shot a suspicious glance at the dark cab of the elevator, taking in its unfinished walls and thin coat of rust. "Are you about to murder me, Antonioni Rigatoni?"

"We'll see how the night goes."

"Fine, but I should warn you I have pepper spray in my purse."

Antonio held the up button and the old freight elevator roared into action. "You aren't carrying a purse," he pointed out.

"What?" Constance looked down at her bare arms. "Damn! Well I hope you can sneak me through the turnstile again on the way back into the city."

"I'll get you back home, don't worry."

"Unless you murder me first in your gross elevator."

"Right."

As Antonio unlocked the door to his studio, he suddenly saw the little space with a new perspective. The apartment wasn't messy, exactly, but when he had gotten up for work that morning he had never imagined that Constance would be standing here by the end of the night. He wanted her to see him as someone who lived in a real apartment, maybe a one-bedroom with enormous windows, sterile white walls, and minimalist furniture in stark shades of black and silver. Instead, she was faced with a shabby studio that only featured a crooked bookcase, an Ikea dresser, and a mattress and box-spring stacked directly on the floor.

Constance looked around the place once, then went over and plopped the little yellow cat down in the center of the bed. "Welcome home, pretty kitty!"

"What's its name?" Antonio asked, leaving the PetSmart bags on the counter by the sink.

"It's your kitty," said Constance. "Hey, hand me one of those toys."

While she teased the little cat with a feather on the end of a stick, Antonio set up a litter box in his bathroom and filled an old takeout dish with water. "Is this enough? Do I need to get those plastic covers for my outlets?"

"It's a cat, not a baby. It doesn't have opposable thumbs to jab into an electrical outlet."

"Good," said Antonio. He stood back and watched the little cat leap back and forth on his quilt. "So what about you? There aren't any more trains tonight. Should I call you a cab?"

"Are you paying for it, Wall Street?"

"I could."

Constance trailed the feather up to the pillow and the cat prepared to pounce, wiggling its haunches threateningly. "I'll stay for a while and make sure the cat settles in, if you want. Maybe I'll wait and catch the train in the morning?"

"Okay," Antonio said, a little too quickly.

"Do you have a TV? Find us a movie or something to watch."

Antonio obeyed, flipping through the few channels he had while Constance kicked off her shoes. "I don't have a couch or anything," he said, suddenly feeling more awkward than he had all night.

"I can sit on a bed," Constance said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a freaking queen. You've seen where I live."

"True."

"Can I ask a favor, though?"

Antonio nodded, pretending to fiddle with buttons on the remote to avoid her gaze.

"Do you have a t-shirt or something I can put on? This dress is itching me."

The question caught Antonio off-guard; he busied himself with digging through his t-shirt drawer to hide the flush he felt spreading across his cheeks. The idea of Constance wearing his shirt was bizarre enough, but if she was going to spend the night, that meant she was going to be sleeping in his bed. Constance! In his bed!

Was she going to ask for pants? Or was she going to sleep without pants? Antonio gripped the edge of the drawer for a second while he tried to regulate his breathing. Constance, in his bed without pants!

The t-shirt he found was a couple of sizes too big for him, so when she emerged from the bathroom with it on it almost looked like one of her trendy little dresses. Her legs and feet were bare.

"We match!" she said, pointing to the t-shirt Antonio had selected for his own pajamas. "So you're a closet Divine Libertines fanboy, huh?"

Antonio tugged at his shirt, frowning down at the familiar logo. "They sang on the Good Morning show a few years ago, and I was in the crowd. They kept firing t-shirt canons, but the shirts weren't going any further than the front row. I ended up with a bunch."

"You were in the front row? How long did you wait for a spot like that?"

"I don't remember," Antonio lied.

Constance dropped onto the bed at his side, pulling his arm around her shoulders and making a big show of snuggling into the pillows. "Well, take me next time, okay? I have an in with the band."

"With the Divine Libertines?"

She nodded. "The lead singer used to date my sister."

Antonio would have bolted upright if she hadn't been leaning on him so heavily. "Your sister? Which one?"

"Allie. The one out in California. It was a long time ago."

"You know the lead singer of the Divine Libertines?"

"Yeah, big deal, he dumped her in the middle of a gig. He's kind of a handful, but I'm sure all former child stars are."

Antonio just stared at her, trying to make sense of that story. Constance was in his bed, wearing his shirt, with no pants on, and she knew the lead singer of the Divine Libertines. And she had given him a cat.

"What movie did you pick?" Constance asked, nodding toward the television screen.

"Um..." Antonio recognized the actress onscreen as Kate Winslet. "It looks like Hamlet."

It was Hamlet, but it was difficult to focus on the familiar story with Constance lying next to him on his bed. She had pressed the back of her hand to his palm and laced their fingers together, keeping his arm in place around her shoulders. Her hair was so close to his face that he could smell her shampoo. During the first commercial break he pulled the quilt over their laps with the excuse that it was getting chilly; luckily, Constance didn't seem to notice the bulge in his pajama pants. Antonio hardly dared breathe after that lest he disturb her.

The kitten, meanwhile, had gotten up the courage to leap off the bed and was poking around the corners of the room, letting out faint squeaks every once in a while.

Antonio had no idea how much time had passed before Constance jolted at the sudden sound of a particularly loud commercial. She sighed and craned her neck until she could see him. "Can I fall asleep?"

"You're the guest," he said, reluctantly extricating himself so that he could turn off the light and the television.

When he returned to the bed, quickly pulling the blankets over himself again, Constance surprised him by laying her head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. "Good night, birthday boy," she murmured, her eyes already closed.

He didn't say anything, but it didn't seem like he needed to. Or maybe he didn't trust himself to speak: the situation in his pants was taking up all of his concentration. He could feel her breasts pressed against his side, and with her arm laying across his torso like that, her fingers were resting just next to his waistband. If she chose to move them just another inch...

Antonio gritted his teeth. If she could see his thoughts right now, she would be disgusted. He was doing it again, ruining a perfectly good friendship by inventing tension that shouldn't have been there. _Sexual_ tension. He drew in a long, slow breath through his nose, trying to ignore the smell of her shampoo.

When people on television found themselves in situations like this, they always tried to think of a distraction. Antonio closed his eyes. So what would distract him from having a woman like Constance sprawled across him in his own bed? People on television joked about thinking of their grandparents, but Antonio didn't have any. None of his foster parents were memorably disfigured, either. Maybe he could think of people at work? Not Lorenzo, obviously, but maybe the thought of snoopy little Rosenberg could kill the mood. Then again, he really didn't want to think about Rosenberg when he had an erection for any reason at all, even as an antidote. It was too weird. This whole day had been too weird.

In the end, it was calming his racing thoughts and matching his breathing to Constance's that finally helped Antonio settle down and, miraculously, fall asleep.

Some time later, he was awakened by a sharp prodding sensation on his stomach. Antonio grunted, his eyes flying open, and was met with the innocent gaze of the ridiculous yellow cat, which was purring so loudly that it seemed to be vibrating. He scooped it into his hands and leaned over the edge of the bed, depositing it back onto the floor.

That was when he realized that Constance wasn't lying on him anymore. In the dark, he could only make out her shape from the way her light hair stood out against his bedsheets. She had rolled away and was curled up with her back to him, the sheets pulled up to her neck.

Antonio propped himself up on one arm, studying her. Had she moved away from him for any particular reason, or just rolled in her sleep? Did she want to get away from him?

Maybe it was because he was half-asleep, but the voices in Antonio's head that had been holding him at a distance all evening weren't as adamant as they had been earlier. Holding his breath, he edged closer until his chest was brushing her back, and he slowly eased one arm around her waist.

She sighed in her sleep, and Antonio actually felt his heart stop beating as he anticipated her waking and pushing him away. He froze: the voices were back now, berating him for ruining another friendship, but to his surprise Constance just rolled back ever so slightly, pressing more firmly against him.

At this angle, the side of her face was illuminated by the low light from the street, catching her hair and lashes and making them look as gold as the dress she had left folded on the counter. Now Antonio's breath caught for another reason: she was genuinely the most beautiful person he had ever known.

He groaned, dropping his head onto the pillow behind hers. It was too late for him now, wasn't it? He finally managed to find a perfect friend here in New York, and he had to go and fall in love with her.

Antonio pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck and clenched his eyes shut.

Fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

When Antonio first awoke, he thought his apartment was empty. It wasn't until he was sitting on the mattress, scrubbing both palms over his face and sighing, that he noticed the sound of his shower running. He froze, hands still spread across his face, and stared at the closed bathroom door. That was when he remembered waking up in the middle of the night and spooning Constance Weber while she was sleeping. He groaned and flopped back onto the bed, covering his face with his arms. What must she have thought when she awoke? She was probably in there trying to scour away the memory of it.

He didn't move when he heard the shower switch off, or even a moment later when Constance emerged, wrapped in one of his towels with her hair swept up in another. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep until he heard her go back into the bathroom and close the door. Then he pulled the blankets over his head and scowled into the darkness.

She was going to leave, wasn't she? She had managed to get out of the bed without waking him, and now she was dressing as quietly as she could. She was going to sneak out and pretend none of this had ever happened, just like Lorenzo had done. And their friendship would be over.

Antonio clenched his eyes, grinding his fists against his temples. This was why he couldn't keep friends. This was why he came straight home from work every evening and watched television until he rolled over and went to sleep. This was why the CEO of his entire company had offered to cancel his birthday party.

No. This was not going to happen again - not with Constance. Antonio was not going to lose Constance over one mistake.

Animated by a sudden burst of determination, he kicked off his blankets and went over to the fridge. There wasn't much in the way of breakfast food, but he still had half a carton of eggs from his spaghetti carbonara dinner a few nights ago. He rinsed off a frying pan and put it on the stove, smoothing his hair self-consciously with one hand and wishing he could duck into the bathroom to check his reflection in the mirror.

He already had one of the eggs cooking when the bathroom door opened again. "Morning," he said, not daring to take his eyes off the pan. Had he sounded casual enough?

"Hey," muttered Constance, and Antonio's heart dropped. She didn't sound angry, not exactly, but her voice was flat and unenthusiastic. Maybe Constance wasn't a morning person - or maybe their friendship was over.

"Do you want an egg?" he asked, forcing his own voice to remain level. His heart was pounding again. It was too early to deal with all of this, especially after a stressful night spent batting away his perverse thoughts while Constance slept innocently by his side.

She didn't answer right away. Antonio finally gathered the courage to turn his head: the kitten was flipped onto its back on the bed, and Constance was tapping it on the nose, withdrawing each time just before it could catch her arm in its extended claws.

"Constance?"

She grabbed the kitten's stomach and it wrapped its front paws around her wrist in a vicious hug.

"No! Don't let it bite you!"

"It's fine. She's playing."

"You'll get hurt!"

"She's _playing_," Constance said again, shooting him a sudden glare. "Wow, you're even worse at interpreting body language than I thought."

Though he wasn't sure exactly what she meant, her tone hit Antonio like a slap. Apparently he had been holding out hope that the tension between them was his imagination, and that Constance wasn't angry at him at all. But she had never spoken to him like that before. She had never looked at him like that before.

Antonio turned back to the stove, busying himself with dropping a piece of bread onto the pan alongside the fried egg.

Fuck.

"Okay, I'm sorry," sighed Constance. "It's my fault, not yours. I'll go." And before he could react, she had walked right out of the apartment.

"Wh- what? Constance, wait!"

It was the freight elevator that saved the day: Constance wasn't sure how to work it, and was stabbing irritably at the call buttons when Antonio followed her out of the apartment, barefoot and still in his pajamas.

"Just let me go," she grumbled, kicking the rusty elevator doors.

Antonio shook his head, planting himself between her and the call buttons. "Let me apologize first. Don't end it like this."

"I told you it's not your fault. I'm pathetic. You straight-up told me you used to be with a guy and I convinced myself you were bi or whatever just so I could keep telling myself that's where this has been going. I always do this shit."

"You always- you convinced yourself- wait, what?"

"I'm pathetic!" Constance said again. She was pacing now, wringing her hands. "Okay, there have to be stairs. Where are the stairs? I want to go."

"You're not- aren't you- aren't you mad at me?"

She stopped in the middle of the landing and finally turned to face him. "Am _I_ mad at _you_? For what?"

"For-" Antonio dropped his gaze to the floor. It sounded ridiculous when he said it aloud. "When you were asleep. I put my arm around you."

Silence.

When he looked up again, she was staring at him, her brow furrowed and her mouth open. He couldn't tell if she was baffled or amused. It was mortifying.

"What is it?"

She shook her head. "Say that again. Tell me again why I'm mad at you."

"Constance, please," he muttered. He could feel his whole face burning with embarrassment.

"You put your arm around me? Why?"

Antonio turned around, holding down the call button until the freight elevator roared to life below.

"Hey, stop it!" said Constance, pulling his arm away. The elevator fell silent. She was standing so close that he could smell his shampoo on her damp hair. "Tell me. Say it."

"Say what?"

"You thought I was mad that you put your arm around me. Why?"

He couldn't meet her eye. "It's what happened with Lorenzo."

"Antonio Salieri, you clueless prude!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Literally the only way I could have been more obvious last night is if I'd come out and begged you to kiss me! I spent the whole morning thinking you weren't into me and I had creeped you out!"

Now it was Antonio's turn to stare open-mouthed. She had said it all casually enough, even with a hint of laughter to her voice, but he must have misunderstood. Hadn't he? Or had Constance Weber really just said that she had wanted to kiss him? He closed his mouth long enough to clear his throat, hoping it would give his head time to clear as well. "What do you- what do you mean?"

"How can you think I'd be angry that you put your arm around me? If I'd had my way we'd have been doing a lot more than that last night! Forget arms, I was expecting to end the day with my legs around your waist."

That image sent all the blood rushing out of Antonio's face. He grabbed her shoulders, worried he would topple right over if he wasn't anchored by something solid. "_What_?"

"Why did you put your arm around me last night, Antonioni?" she asked again, but from the grin on her face it seemed like she was already anticipating the answer.

Antonio took a deep breath; he was pretty sure that his grip on her shoulders was the only thing keeping him upright. He trained his eyes on the wall behind her head, unwilling to see her expression when he admitted aloud the secret he had only begun to come to terms with the night before. "I think," he began, casting out for the least embarrassing way to phrase it, "you're the most perfect person I know. I could- I could love you, maybe," he stammered.

And then Constance clapped a hand to the back of his neck and kissed him on the lips. It was brief and sudden; Antonio hadn't even registered what was happening before she pulled back and smirked at him. He had just stood there. He hadn't even thought to purse his lips. "I don't need you to _love_ me," she said. She moved more slowly when she leaned in the second time, and Antonio had the presence of mind to kiss her back.

Antonio hadn't kissed that many people in his life, but relationships that had gone this direction in the past had always gotten intense enough that he had managed to get in a lot of practice. Kissing was familiar, but kissing Constance was pleasantly different. Her tongue was against his lip almost immediately; he met it with his own, cautious at first, but Constance wasn't wasting any more time. She pressed her body to him, soft curves where he wasn't used to them, and then she dropped a hand to his waist, grinding her hips against his and twisting the other hand through his hair until Antonio saw spots behind his lids. He didn't realize how unsteady he was on his feet until his backside suddenly collided with the wall behind him. She broke away long enough to giggle and then they were kissing again. He had dared to imagine what this would be like a few times, and now that it was actually happening it was not what he would have expected. Her mouth tasted like his toothpaste, and he was acutely aware that he hadn't had a chance to brush his own teeth. She didn't seem to mind. Constance was kissing him with a fierce energy that was both flattering and intimidating. It seemed like she wanted to rip his clothes off right here on the landing. Antonio would have let her do it, too.

It was the unexpected sound of the fire alarm that finally got their attention: when Antonio gasped, "The toast!" he wasn't just breathless from surprise. But then he remembered that he was wearing nothing but a Divine Libertines t-shirt and pajama pants, that he was pinned to the wall of the landing by a fully clad woman in a gold miniskirt, and that the keys to his apartment were on the other side of a locked door.

Oh, and that his flannel pants were doing nothing to hide his erection.

"I don't have the keys," he said weakly, and for some ungodly reason that sent Constance into a fit of hysterics.

It was so obvious what they'd been doing that when the first neighbor poked their head out to see whether or not the fire alarm was indicative of a real threat, they looked Antonio up and down, apologized, and closed their door with a knowing smile. It wasn't just Antonio's pants that gave them away, either: Constance's lips were puffy and her damp hair was all mussed, and Antonio knew he was in the same state. The alarm continued to blare mercilessly overhead.

"What do I do? Do I call the super?"

Constance was still shaking with laughter, but she caught her breath long enough to point out that he didn't have his phone either. "You have to go get him!"

"But I'm barefoot!" he protested, and that set her off again. It would have been maddening if she didn't look so radiant.

A moment later the freight elevator heaved itself up to their floor with a long, mechanical groan. It had to be the super on his way up to assess the situation. Antonio tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, but he had given the bigger one to Constance the night before and his fit too well to hide his unfortunate situation. Though the sight of him trying to pull his shirt down to hide his pants had her laughing even harder than before, Constance managed to straight up long enough to plant herself at his side so that her full skirt blocked it from view, pulling his arm around her shoulder to make her proximity look more natural.

The super was a gruff, harried little man who spoke no English, communicating instead through an assortment of cognates and gestures. He stepped out of the elevator doors and frowned at the pair, then pointed at the locked door of Antonio's apartment.

"No- no fuego!" Antonio stammered, tightening his grip on Constance. "No..." he pointed at himself with his free hand and mimed turning a key in a lock.

"No llaves!" chirped Constance. She was still enjoying the whole situation a little too much, but at least her skirt was successfully hiding his erection.

That is, her skirt was hiding his erection until the super got the door unlocked and a cloud of smoke rolled out onto the landing, accompanied by a flash of yellow that Antonio realized was a very stressed kitten. Constance gasped and launched herself after the tiny beast, leaving him unfortunately exposed.

Antonio froze where he was, wishing the smoke was thick enough to obscure the super's vision. He felt like he was in the adult version of one of those dreams about being at school in his underwear. Would it be stranger if he just stood here staring, or if he completely turned his back to the super and faced the wall until he was gone? Antonio scowled at Constance, who was in the far corner gathering the horrified kitten into her arms. Traitor. It was her fault he was in this situation in the first place.

He tugged at his pajama pants again, and settled for awkwardly crossing his hands over the bulge. Maybe he would sleep in jeans from now on, just in case.

By the time the super left (and Antonio was sure he saw an unusual sparkle in the old man's eye), the situation in Antonio's pants had subsided. His apartment smelled terrible: the eggs and toast he had left on the stove were completely reduced to a molten black mound, and his frying pan was ruined. Opening the window and turning on a fan helped a little, but just being in the room made his eyes water.

"Can I use your phone?" Constance asked. The kitten was perched on her shoulder like a wobbly familiar.

Antonio passed it over, then went to work scrubbing some of the toast residue off his pan. Maybe if he soaked it in the sink for a while he could salvage it.

"Sophie? It's me," he heard Constance say. "I know, but I had to give Antonio the kitten."

There was a pause, and he wondered what her sister was saying. It wasn't a surprise that Sophie knew who he was, especially given how many pictures Constance had posted to facebook for the past few months, but it was still strange to him. That must mean that Constance talked about him to her sisters. He wondered if they knew Constance had been wanting to kiss him.

"This is his number, and it's in my phone too," she said. A pause. "Right where I left it, next to the couch! You know the lock code, right?"

Antonio realized that Constance hadn't asked for his lock code. That made sense; they spent enough time together that he was pretty sure he could replicate hers as well.

"Okay, I'll be back at the end of the weekend, probably. Monday morning?"

Monday morning! It was only Saturday! Constance wanted to spend the whole weekend at his place? The charred pan nearly slipped out of his hands and into the sink.

"Shut up! I'm not talking to you!" gasped Constance, laughter in her voice. A final pause, and then: "You're gross. But yes, that's the plan. See you then!" She came over to the sink and set the phone on the counter. "Not only did I forget my purse, but I forgot my phone as well. And everything else! Do you have condoms?"

The pan clattered into the sink, dousing Antonio in soapy water.

"Seriously?" Constance smirked. "You really are a prude! Where would they be? Underwear drawer?" She started across the room to his dresser.

"No, Constance, don't- don't do that. I don't have any. No one ever comes here."

She raised an eyebrow, depositing the kitten onto the floor. "From what I hear, your buddy from the food cart was coming all over the place in here."

Antonio physically recoiled in surprise. "I'll go get some," he muttered, wiping his soapy hands on a dish towel.

"Well don't go out if you're gonna be all grumpy about it," said Constance. "I'm not gonna force you to mess around if you don't want to. Stay and talk for a little bit."

"I do want to," Antonio said, but he couldn't even meet her eye when he admitted it. What was wrong with him? Wasn't he still the same person who had pushed Lorenzo Da Ponte against a manned food cart during lunch hour and made out with him in the middle of a crowded sidewalk?

"It doesn't have to be weird. Come here. We'll just talk." Constance pulled him away from the sink and clambered onto his bed. The kitten leaped up after her and began sniffing suspiciously at the pillows, so Antonio made a point of sitting on her other side. She linked her arm through his. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Good. Hey, is that a guitar in the corner by the dresser?"

Antonio nodded.

"How come it's all closed up in a case? Do you know how to play it?"

"Yeah. My brother Frank taught me when I was little."

"You have a brother?"

Antonio shrugged. "I did. He was older than me. I used to sneak out of the dorm at night to hear his band play."

"The dorm?"

"At the children's home."

He felt Constance stiffen in surprise, but after a moment she just tightened her grip on his arm. It seemed strange that she didn't already know about his past, but then again, he tended to let her do most of the talking when they had lunch together. "So where's Frank now?"

"I don't know. That was in Jersey, but my first foster home was in Long Island and we didn't have cell phones or email addresses back then."

"They separated you?"

"I guess," said Antonio. The pity in her voice was making him nervous. "I don't play that guitar much anymore, to be honest. When I first moved here I thought I was going to busk in the subway on the weekends, but I never felt like I knew enough songs."

He felt her relax at the change of subject. "You only need like ten minutes' worth of material, though, cause people will be getting on and off and won't stand around to hear you play. Unless it's the C, in which case they make you wait like an hour between trains."

"The C train can go fuck itself," said Antonio lightly.

"Yeah!" Constance laughed.

"What about you? Is the karaoke bar training you for a career as a singer or something?"

"Ha! Yeah, right. Because one Aloysia isn't enough."

"Do you want to take over the bar someday?"

"Hell no," said Constance. "I'd like to run a business or something, though. Maybe open a little shop somewhere."

"Would you bring your sisters?"

Constance rested her head on his shoulder. "Maybe," she said. "But I want my own family too. I always imagine an apartment full of a bunch of kids with chocolate smeared all over their faces running around trying to draw on the walls."

Antonio didn't tell her that that sounded a lot like his old orphanage. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

"Mom says I have to marry rich, though. I used to laugh about it, but Allie married Joey Lange and they started sending Mom checks every month. Things have been so much better ever since. We haven't had a ramen dinner in years. It makes you think that maybe money can buy happiness after all."

"Wait, Joey Lange the famous actor? Isn't Allie the same sister who dated the lead singer of the Divine Libertines?"

"Yep, that's her."

"Jesus," muttered Antonio. "Is Josie dating the mayor of New York? Sophie's engaged to a Nigerian prince?"

"In Mom's dreams!"

"And yet you're spending the weekend with a marketing director from Jersey."

Constance hummed in agreement, turning her head just enough to press a kiss against his shoulder.

"I wouldn't have taken you for the romantic type," Antonio mused. He unhooked his arm from hers so that he could wrap it around her waist instead, pulling her closer to him. Constance settled her cheek against his chest, her warm breath ghosting over his throat. "I mean, I thought you were about to take me right there on the landing a minute ago."

"Damn fire alarm," she mumbled. It almost sounded like she was getting sleepy.

Antonio kissed the top of her head. Her hair was almost dry now, but it still smelled faintly of his shampoo.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Antonio asked, wondering if she would mind if he stroked her hair.

"Do you want a bunch of kids and a Nigerian prince for a husband?"

He chuckled, caught off-guard by the question. "I don't know," he lied. "I never really thought about it."

"Well, buy some lottery cards when you go get the condoms and maybe you can be my Italian prince husband."

"Okay, but if I win the jackpot, we're naming the kids Luigi and Mario."

"And a daughter named Peach. No, wait- Waluigi!"

"Done," said Antonio, and he smiled into her hair when Constance laughed.

She heaved a great sigh and then wiggled out of his arms. "Go," she urged, pushing on his chest. "Get some breakfast that's not on fire while you're at it."

"Fine, I'm going," he groaned, clambering off of the bed. "Let me brush my teeth first."

He changed into real pants while he was in the bathroom. Constance would definitely tease him if she noticed that he was too shy to change in front of her, especially considering he was on his way to buy condoms so the two of them could have sex. Still, it hadn't happened yet, and he didn't want her first view of his bare ass to be while he was hopping on one leg struggling to get into his faded skinny jeans.

He was finally combing through his hair when he heard his cell phone ring. Antonio almost didn't recognize the sound. He didn't really use it to talk to anyone but Constance, and she usually sent texts and pictures. On the other side of the door, he heard Constance answer. It must have been one of her sisters calling.

When he left the bathroom a moment later, Antonio was fully dressed except for his shoes. But the atmosphere in the room had changed: Constance had his phone in her hand and was staring vacantly at it, a grim set to her mouth.

He instantly felt his hope sink away. Something had happened. It was over. It had all been too good to be true. "You okay?" he asked, eyeing his phone.

"Mom called Josie," said Constance. She threw the phone against the nearest pillow, which woke the kitten and sent him darting to the safety of the far corner.

"Is she alright?"

Constance pushed herself off of the bed, straightened her dress, and went to retrieve the shoes she had kicked off earlier. "She just landed at JFK."

"You have to go home?"

"Allie's with her. She's pregnant."

"Your mom?"

Constance shot him a dark look.

"Oh! Your sister's pregnant. Okay. I'm sorry."

"And Joey left her. Again!"

Antonio took a deep breath, letting go of the plans he had made for their weekend together. Constance had a family to tend to. It wasn't really something he knew that much about.

He grabbed his keys and his wallet. "I'll spot you for a cab," he said gently, hoping that he didn't sound as shattered as he felt.

Something in his voice got her attention anyway. Constance threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "Rain check on our weekend, okay? Get the biggest box of condoms they sell and be ready for next time."

"I will," he said, giving in to the temptation to stroke her hair. "I'll buy a couple hundred lottery tickets while I'm at it."

"Good. I'll tell Mom I was having breakfast with my Italian Prince Charming," Constance said. Her voice was muffled against his chest. "How do you say 'charming' in Italian? Rigatoni?"

"Yeah, rigatoni."

"Prince Rigatoni," Constance said. "Lord of Wall Street."

"Owner of a million condoms."

"And a smoke-damaged frying pan."

"Your mom will be so impressed."

The whole room seemed colder when she let go of him.

Constance gripped his hand through the entire cab ride back into the city; even with the heavy traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel, it was over too soon. As for Antonio, he spent the rest of the weekend on his own, as usual, with only the kitten and the familiar drone of reality television to distract him from his silent phone.


	6. Chapter 6

When he stepped out for lunch on Monday, Antonio was genuinely surprised to see Constance waiting for him. She was wearing another short black dress, this one covered in multicolored bows, and a huge smile. The glint of the bright September sun on her long golden hair made her look more like an angel than usual. Antonio actually froze in his tracks at the sight of her.

He hadn't heard from her since Saturday morning, when she had hurriedly kissed him and climbed out of the cab without looking back. He had tried to tell himself that having a pregnant, newly-single sister in from LA had to be time-consuming, but every time he had checked his phone a part of him wondered whether it had all been some kind of scheme to get away from him. When he had gone to bed last night the cat had curled into a loudly-purring ball next to his head, and Antonio had suddenly understood the appeal of having a pet. He looked at the little golden hairball with its enormous blue eyes, and he decided its name would be Cat-stance.

Now here was the real Constance, leaning on a rusty blue mailbox and smiling at him like nothing awkward had happened between them that weekend. Antonio felt an unexpected weakness in his knees that reminded him of stage fright.

Constance showed no signs of any such qualms, of course. She bounded across the street with her purse clutched tightly beneath one arm, skittered to a stop a few paces away from him, and dropped into an overstated curtsy. "Prince Rigatoni," she said with a reverent voice.

"Um- hey."

She clapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh no! He's being a prude again!" groaned Constance. "All our progress, gone!"

"I'm not a prude!"

"You're a giant prude. The giantest!"

A few members of a nearby construction crew were resting with their backs against the equipment and watching them while they ate lunch. Antonio couldn't tell if the smirks on their faces were directed at Constance's short, strapless dress and or the things she was saying about Antonio. Either way, he didn't like it. "I'm not a prude," he said again, his voice lower. "I'm just not all-" he wiggled his hands in the air on either side of his face and tried to make his eyes as wide as Constance's.

"I don't know what that was supposed to mean, but it was adorable," said Constance. "Permission to kiss you?"

He glanced over her shoulder at the construction workers. "Granted."

It should have been a quick greeting kiss, but Constance still managed to catch his lower lip between hers and slide her tongue across it. Antonio grunted in surprise and she broke away, a smug light dancing in her eyes.

He bought them both dollar slices; she was in a pizza mood that day. They found an empty bench in the corner park on Sixth Avenue, where Constance kept trying to get pigeons to land on Antonio by balancing pieces of crust on his shoulders and lap when he wasn't paying attention. Initially he was flicking the bits of bread back at her as he found them, but one accidentally landed right in the cleft between her breasts and after that he was too embarrassed to continue. Constance found the whole thing hilarious, of course, and insisted on leaving it where it had landed. "Maybe a pigeon will feel me up," she joked.

Antonio cringed. "Throw it on the ground! People will stare."

"And does that make you jealous?" she asked sweetly.

"Jealous? No! I just-"

"You're prude-ing up again," she interrupted.

"Prude-ing?"

Constance nodded, plucking the scrap of bread out of her cleavage and tossing it onto the pavement. "That's your thing, apparently. I leave you alone for half a minute and you freeze up like the Tin Man."

"I don't freeze up," he muttered, but he knew she had a point.

"You do, and then if I want my Antonio back I have to oil you up. And not in a fun way."

"Your Antonio?"

Constance nodded again, linking her arm through his and dropping her head onto his shoulder. "Mine."

Antonio kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm rusty."

"Hilarious."

He grinned against her hair.

"Hey, I've got a surprise for you!" she said, sitting up so suddenly that her head narrowly missed cracking into his jaw. "Let me find it."

Antonio collected their paper plates and napkins and took them over to the nearby trash can, wiping the crumbs off his trousers. When he returned to the bench, Constance had produced a ticket from deep within her disorganized purse. "Happy birthday!"

"You already gave me that cat," Antonio said, taking the ticket. When he saw the name of the band, he nearly lost his grip on it. "Constance!"

"Allie got them. She used to date the frontman, remember? They're playing Madison Square Garden on Thursday, and she us got a bunch of VIP tickets! Allie said she doesn't want to see him, so she gave me her ticket to give to you!"

"And your mom won't be there?" Antonio asked, covering the ear that Cecilia Weber had nearly ripped off of his head all those months ago.

"Yeah, right, Mom in the front row of a Divine Libertines concert at Madison Square Garden."

"Constance, this is amazing. This is really amazing."

"Something told me you might appreciate it."

Antonio leaned in and kissed her. It was the first time he had initiated a kiss between them, and a part of him still worried she would pull away. She didn't, of course; in fact, the instant his lips touched hers she wound her arms around him and pulled him in tighter.

When they broke apart, Antonio didn't let go of her waist as she asked,"Can I come over again this weekend?"

"Yes, of course." He realized he was a little breathless.

"Promise you won't rust up on me?"

"I'll try."

"Good," said Constance. "And you might need to buy a second box of condoms. You know, just in case."

It was a fantastic thing to hear her say, yet Antonio had to force himself not to cringe anyway. Maybe she was right: maybe he was a prude.

* * *

><p>Work was particularly tedious that day. Antonio caught himself staring at the clock at the corner of his desktop multiple times, as though watching the minutes tick away could make Thursday come faster. Front row and a backstage pass to the Divine Libertines at Madison Square Gardens! He had never been given anything that generous! If he ever met Constance's sister Allie, Antonio was worried he might kiss her, too.<p>

It was late afternoon before a new email finally popped up in his inbox. Antonio had taken over Stephanie's marketing deal until the new sales rep finished training, and was corresponding with a representative for their client about the terms of the commercial jingle. He usually rolled his eyes when this customer sent a new email, since their default font color was purple and they had a long, ridiculous automatic signature that included shallow inspirational quotes and far too many tildes as decoration. This time, he was actually bored enough with his lack of work that the incoming message was a relief.

He browsed the email and dropped his head to his desk in frustration. The signature was actually longer than the message, which simply read: "Busy all week, good for meeting w/ u next monday! THEO".

Who used 'u' for 'you' in a professional email?

"Antonio?"

He jerked his head up. Lorenzo was hovering awkwardly at the door of his office, his arms crossed tightly around a stack of folders.

"Hey."

"Are you working on that commercial?" he asked. He wasn't quite making eye contact.

Antonio pointed to the chair in front of his desk. "Come sit."

To his relief, Lorenzo did, crossing his long legs and resting the folder in his lap. He stared at the desk with his wide brown eyes, but didn't repeat the question or pose a follow-up.

"How've you been?" Antonio asked, taking care to keep his tone as businesslike as possible.

Lorenzo didn't answer right away. Antonio was sitting with his hands poised over his keyboard: at the first sign of awkwardness he was ready to say he had just received an important new case. He pretended to scan something on his screen, though the only unanswered email he had was from the inappropriately slangy Theo.

He had reread the insipid message at least four times before Lorenzo finally answered what should have been a simple, cursory question with, "I don't know."

Antonio looked up from his computer, biting the insides of his cheeks to hide his impatience. He had known Lorenzo for years. He had coached him through every kind of breakup there was despite his lack of personal experience in the area. Between the two of them, Lorenzo had always been the troublemaker and Antonio had always followed behind to clean up his messes. Things had been so off lately. One weekend of rebound sex and suddenly Lorenzo was acting like a complete stranger.

But it wasn't just what had happened between them that had changed Lorenzo, Antonio thought. He opened and closed the email from his insipid client again.

"It's just... We were different," Lorenzo went on. Now he was staring off into the distance.

Antonio dropped the email into the trash folder, then took it out again. Of course that's what this was about. Stephanie. Today was her first day working from the Philadelphia office.

"It's like it was always supposed to be her," Lorenzo was saying. "It's... I remember how things were before I knew her, and I remember how normal everything felt. But then I found her, and suddenly she was all I ever thought about. I remember life before her, but at the same time, I can't imagine it."

Antonio stiffened. That sounded a little too familiar. He minimized his email inbox and shot a guilty glance at his desktop background: a picture Constance had put on facebook of the two of them waiting in line for a cronut. Her idea, of course. The hour they had waited to get the thing would have been a waste of time with anyone else.

After a moment, Lorenzo snapped out of his thoughts and turned his wide-eyed stare on Antonio. "I'm sorry. You're the last person who needs to hear this shit from me. It's just- I don't know who else-"

"It's fine. Really," Antonio reassured him, and he actually heard an echo of sincerity in his own words. How long had it been since he had been able to look at his former friend without his stomach doing that angry little flip he was so used to?

Lorenzo turned over the folder in his lap, then turned it again. "It's not fine," he blurted. "I'm sorry, Antonio, really. I've been such a dick. You're the one who got me this job in the first place. I should have at least-"

"It's fine, Lorenzo," he said again. "I get it. Seriously: I get it."

"Really?" He studied him for a moment. "You mean-?"

Antonio saw the subtle lift of Lorenzo's brows when he understood, and he shrugged, suddenly aware that his cheeks were burning a little. "I get it," he said again.

"Is it the blonde who met you at the karaoke bar Friday night?"

"Constance," said Antonio.

For the first time in months, that slow, lazy smile spread across Lorenzo's face. "Constance, huh?"

Antonio nodded, biting the insides of his cheeks again, but this time it was to contain his own answering grin.

"We have girlfriends," said Lorenzo, wrinkling his nose.

"We're like the guys who used to make fun of us in school."

"Girlfriends," Lorenzo repeated, pronouncing the word as though he were learning a foreign language. "How did you meet yours?"

They had barely spoken at all since Joe's birthday. Antonio started telling the story of his adventures after their first trip to the karaoke bar with a little reservation, but Lorenzo was just as good a listener as he had always been. Soon Antonio found himself dwelling on the particularly funny details for effect: his own confusion over his first shot of tequila, waking up in an unfamiliar living room, and, of course, his introduction to Cecilia Weber. By the end of the story, Lorenzo was laughing so loudly that Rosenberg from accounting stared pointedly into the office as he passed. It was like they had never been estranged.

Between this, the ticket in his briefcase, and the memory of Constance calling him 'my Antonio', he ended the day feeling like everything was finally falling back into place.

* * *

><p>Antonio had just finished a huge takeout dinner and was scowling at a Friends rerun when his phone vibrated. He had to adjust the kitten, who had fallen asleep just by his armpit, to retrieve the phone from his bedside table, but it was worth it when he saw that the message was from Constance. Not that anyone else would have texted him this late at night anyway.<p>

When he pulled up the message and the picture loaded he started so violently that the kitten evacuated the bed and Antonio accidentally dropped the phone against his own cheek. The pain didn't matter; he sat up and looked at the image again.

It was Constance. It was unquestionably Constance, though only a sliver of her chin was visible. The rest of the picture was a pair of bare breasts shielded only by one arm, a stomach that appeared to be mostly submerged in a bath, and two naked thighs pressed tightly together at the knee. He could even make out a tuft of dark gold hair at the apex of those thighs.

It was a nude. Constance Weber had just sent him a nude.

He enlarged the picture, zooming in and slowly panning down its length. This felt like some kind of invasion, he told himself, but it was Constance who had chosen to take and send the picture.

What would it be like to run his hands up the length of those thighs?

Yep, there it was: his jeans were starting to feel a little too snug. Checking to make sure the cat was out of sight, Antonio unzipped his fly and gently rubbed his palm across the front of his boxers.

The sound of a jeering studio audience startled him: Phoebe had just kissed whoever her guest star boyfriend was. Antonio sat up long enough to grab the remote and mute the television, then kicked his jeans off the rest of the way.

He jumped again when his phone started to vibrate in his hand. This time it was an incoming call. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was from Constance herself.

"Hey."

"Hey, Antonioni. Did you get it?"

No preamble then. Well, that was probably for the best, since Antonio had already taken off his pants. "Yeah."

"And?"

"Did you just take that?"

"Yep. Just for you."

"You're taking a bath?"

"I take my privacy where I can get it. Mom's having dinner with Allie, and Sophie and Josie are down at the bar, so I've got the place to myself."

"You shouldn't have your phone in the bath, Constance," Antonio said. He realized he had started palming the bulge in his underwear again and froze guiltily.

"It's for a good cause," she said. There was a pause during which Antonio was pretty sure he could hear the slosh of bath water. "So? What would you do if you were here with me right now?"

Oh. So it was going to be that kind of a phone call. Antonio immediately felt his mouth go dry. "I would tell you not to have your phone in the bath," he muttered. Somehow there was enough blood left in the top half of his body for his cheeks to start burning.

"Thanks, Rusty the Tin Man."

"Constance!" he protested. "This isn't exactly my forte."

"Well, are you touching yourself?"

Antonio took a slow, deep breath, but it still didn't steady his nerves. "Yes," he admitted.

"Me too."

Another twitch beneath his palm. Antonio was getting a little dizzy.

"I wish it was your hand instead," Constance said, keeping her voice low. "Your mouth. I want to feel your beard against my thighs. Your hot breath. Your tongue."

Antonio's breath hitched. "Jesus, Constance."

"Mm. Your lips here, my boobs, while you slowly slide your cock into me. All the way."

"Fuck," he breathed.

Constance laughed, but it was a lot throatier than the giggle he was used to. "You're easy. Now you go."

"Go where?"

"Talk!" she ordered.

"I- I don't-" Antonio stammered, but he stopped himself and heaved a sigh. Judging from the way Constance was breathing and based on the fact that he literally had his cock in his hand, it seemed ridiculous for him to be nervous now. "I don't know," he muttered. "I wish you were actually here."

"Why?"

"I- I want to hold you. To touch you."

"Yeah?"

"Mm," he answered.

He knew that wouldn't be enough for her, and he was right: "Tell me what you would do," Constance insisted. "Tell me what we'll do on Friday night. When I'm in your bed again."

He remembered the way she had kissed him on the landing, and the way it felt to slip an arm around her waist as she lay in his bed, her long golden curls spread across the pillow, filling the air with that faint scent of flowery shampoo. "I'd kiss you," he ventured, but it sounded so weak as he said it. "No, your neck. I'd bury my face in your neck and breathe. It would smell like your hair, and sweat, and- and you."

"Your lips pressed against my neck, and my hands on your hips, guiding you."

"Long, slow strokes at first," said Antonio. "All the way in, a little further each time, but gently."

"Too slow," Constance interrupted. "You're on your back, and I'm straddling you. Riding you like a damn horse."

"With your head thrown back." It wasn't the first time the image had crossed Antonio's mind. He closed his eyes, imagining her hands on his chest as she ground her hips against his.

Just the sound of Constance's breathing was almost enough to finish him; every few moments she described another obscene image in that throaty voice and Antonio's hips would jerk in response. He ground his heels into the mattress in preparation to come hard when suddenly Constance gasped, paused, and shouted, "I'm taking a bath!"

Antonio froze, his pulse so loud and his attention so diverted that he could barely tell what was happening on the other side of the phone. It was impossible to hold his breath.

"Josie's home," Constance hissed. "Raincheck."

And just like that, the call ended with an impotent little sound effect.

Antonio let out his breath in a long, slow hiss. If Constance was that good at phone sex, Friday night was going to be exhausting.

Still too preoccupied to focus on anything but his dribbling erection, Antonio used his free hand to fumble with his phone until he was back in his photo gallery, zoomed in on the nude again like some kind of pervert. It was the sight of the mostly-bare breasts that finally put him over the edge, though the orgasm wasn't as bone-rattling as he expected. He heaved a sigh as he got to his feet and moved into the bathroom to clean himself up. "Thanks a lot, Josie," he grumbled, shooting a glare at his own empty bathtub.

He watched his reflection while he was brushing his teeth, mostly trying to decide whether he should get another haircut or let it grow out this time. It was taking a lot of work to keep his thoughts off of the nude picture that was saved to his phone. Keeping his thoughts off of Constance in general was almost impossible. It wasn't until he was rinsing off his toothbrush that it occurred to him that he had never actually been attracted to a person with breasts before, much less masturbated to an image of them. It seemed like it should have been a funny realization, but it actually just made Antonio uncomfortable. He'd thought he was firmly gay for more than twenty years now. Apparently Constance Weber was so hot that she had turned him bi. Would he still find random women attractive even after Constance inevitably dumped him, or would he go right back to sneaking glances at skinny guys in tight jeans for the rest of his life?

He started to change into a Divine Libertines t-shirt for bed, but decided to wear a shirt from last summer's company picnic and put the band shirt back. He might need a Divine Libertines shirt on Thursday. Would it be too weird to have one of the band's old t-shirts on during a backstage tour? He wasn't exactly one of the teenaged groupies they were probably used to.

Antonio found the kitten curled up in the middle of his welcome mat and scooped it into his arms before he turned off the light, unmuted the television, and climbed into bed. The cat refused to snuggle up under his arm as it had been before Constance called, but after a moment of sniffing around the bed it decided to perch on Antonio's lap and give itself a bath.

He watched it lick the underside of a back leg for a few minutes. "You're an asshole, did you know that?"

The kitten looked up at him for a moment, then went back to licking itself.

"So did you all hear the news about Joey Lange? Joey Lange, anybody?"

Antonio turned his attention to the television, which had switched over to tonight's episode of Conan. He had heard news about Joey Lange, hadn't he? He was the one who had just broken up with Constance's sister, Allie, who had gotten them the Divine Libertines tickets.

"Yeah, Joey Lange is in the news today. Big news there: apparently he and Aloysia separated last week. Yeah, they separated. Yeah. Apparently when reached for comment, Joey Lange said that Aloysia was a total Syncopated Tart."

The pun elicited loud groans from the audience, but Antonio wasn't listening for the punchline. He stared at the television, which was now showing a paparazzi shot of Joey Lange and Aloysia on the red carpet for some event. Aloysia was wearing a green gown adorned with feathers and staring seriously into the camera, but it wasn't the wild dress or its plunging neckline that was holding Antonio's attention: it was the fact that his girlfriend's enigmatic sister Allie was actually pop sensation Aloysia.

He turned his stare on the concert ticket he had laid out on the counter when he had gotten in after work.

Pop sensation Aloysia had gotten him a front row ticket to a Divine Libertines concert.

Antonio turned off the television and leaned back against his pillow, but it was a long time before he actually fell asleep.

How did a gay foster kid from Jersey end up having phone sex with the gorgeous sister of a world-famous pop star?


End file.
